


Sitting on Top of the World

by Luka



Series: University AU [1]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 08:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Being snowed in at Christmas causes Lester to rethink his priorities.





	Sitting on Top of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rain_sleet_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/gifts).



> Long ago and far away, Rain_sleet_snow created a university AU in Primeval fanfic where Lester is deputy vice-chancellor, Ryan the head of security, Lorraine an economics lecturer and Sarah an Egyptology PhD candidate. I jumped into her sandpit, and a load of stories followed. Our stories are in the same universe, but we've kind of developed our own plot (in that there is much plot) lines! This fic is the first I created in the AU universe and was a secret santa for Rain_sleet_snow - there are more stories to follow. If you want to read Rain_sleet_snow's stories, she has them on her AO3 account under the Smart People series tag. To avoid confusion, I'm going to name my series as University AU. Original, or what!

Lester sighed ostentatiously and looked out over the snow-covered campus. A group of students were whooping and shrieking and pelting each other with snowballs. Snowmen dotted the scene, including one handsome specimen outside the library, wearing a battered trilby at a rakish angle. Lester had a feeling that Norman, the head maintenance man, would be on the warpath soon, searching for his headgear. No doubt various archangels were currently shouldering the blame for its disappearance. 

The students were now rolling around in the snow, creating snow angels. Lester sighed again. Dot, the head cleaner, would be in his office creating merry hell if it all got trodden into the canteen and corridors. And he had a nasty feeling that little bunch were trainee army nurses, so that would mean a snotty memo from the former Lieutenant Owen. It accounted for why the little blighters were still hanging around campus on Christmas Eve. The military believed in getting their money's worth from their students.

Blasted students. Damn place would run so much more smoothly without them and their thoroughly unreasonable demands. He glanced at the email on his screen – yet more complaints from nutty Professor Cutter in Zoology that he was being expected to teach. Clearly it had escaped the wretched man's attention that it was a university.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," said Lester wearily. Unless he was much mistaken, the snow was coming down considerably harder now.

"Sir…"

"What is it, Ryan?" 

The head of campus security frowned. "We should be closing the campus and sending everyone home, sir. This weather's set in and due to get worse, according to the forecasts."

Lester rubbed his forehead. In the absence of the vice-chancellor on one of his junkets to Thailand, the buck stopped with him. It did make sense to close the campus. After all, it was customary to shut down at lunch time on Christmas Eve. Most of the students seemed to have skived off early and he had a suspicion that a large proportion of the staff had disappeared for skiing holidays. He allowed himself a smug grin that that idiotic Dean of Earth Sciences would be drumming his fingers in the Pyrenees where there wasn't a flake of snow, whereas he'd be practising his slalom and downhill if he'd stayed at home.

"You're right, Ryan. Go ahead and do it. I'll get the press office to contact local radio and TV and get the message out to the community." Perhaps he could now get a head start on his annual purgatory, masquerading as a trip to family in Hampshire.

Ryan nodded and for one moment Lester thought he was going to salute. Instead, though, he turned on his heel and headed off down the corridor, his highly-polished boots thudding on Dot's equally highly-polished floor.

~*~*~*

Sarah stretched, wincing at the ache in her neck. She glanced up at the clock and squawked. Lorraine would have her guts for garters – they were supposed to be going out for supper that evening with some of Lorraine's colleagues. She grabbed her phone and texted: 'Just finishing off. Home soon.'

The phone beeped almost immediately. 'Stuck in meeting. See you in refectory in 15 mins.'

Sarah began to pack her books and files away. For the first time in years, she was looking forward to Christmas. It would be the first one she'd spent with Lorraine in their new flat and she was looking forward to good food, rest, relaxation and plenty of sex. In fact, she wasn't planning on emerging until the new year.

She pelted downstairs, out of the front door and yelped as her feet went from under her and she slid on her backside down the treacherous steps. Bloody hell, where had all this snow come from?

"Are you OK?" 

Blimey, the dreamy Stephen Hart could talk, contrary to popular opinion. He was usually seen in the company of mad Professor Cutter, who talked enough for both of them. Campus chit-chat had it that they were an item.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Sarah, wincing as the damp seeped through her jeans. She allowed Stephen to help her to her feet. "I didn't realise it was snowing."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Started at 10am."

"I've been stuck in the lab all day."

"They've closed the campus and sent everyone home early."

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone in the refectory."

"Me too."

He offered her his arm and they made slow but steady progress across the courtyard, Sarah sliding as she tried to keep up with Stephen's long-legged gait.

In comparison with the arctic conditions outside, the refectory felt positively tropical. It was almost deserted, the decree to clear the campus earlier clearly having been acted on.

Lorraine was perched on a table, sipping delicately at a cup of sludge from the drinks machine – it was hardly fair to dignify it with the title coffee. Nearby, mad Professor Cutter was haranguing Lester, the deputy vice-chancellor, a man who'd turned looking down his nose into an art form. The blond hunk who was head of security – someone had once told Sarah he was ex-army, which she could fully believe from his erect bearing and shiny boots – was virtually standing to attention behind Lester. But his eyes were never still, as if he expected an insurrection to kick off at any moment over by the sandwiches.

"Here they are!" announced Lorraine brightly, a signal to Sarah that she was about to kneecap someone.

"Dr Page, Dr Hart… How nice of you to grace us with your presence…" Lester looked anything but delighted.

"Not Dr yet, sadly," said Sarah, and then immediately regretted her hair-trigger mouth. 

Lester didn't dignify this with an answer, continuing as if she hadn't spoken… "Although I'm not quite sure which part of 'the campus is closed due to adverse weather conditions' you didn't understand."

Sarah opened her mouth to retort that she'd been doing what the university paid her to do, but Lorraine's fractionally quirked eyebrow stopped her in her tracks. Instead, she said: "Well, time we were going, in that case."

"Sadly we've missed our window of opportunity, as our American friends have it. The police have closed the roads. So we must make the best of things here until conditions improve."

"I'm not damn well staying here! Stephen and I have plans for Christmas!" Cutter brought his fist down on the table, causing two coffee cups to levitate.

"As I've said, Professor, you'll be unlucky. Now, Ryan here has carried out a recce and one of the student blocks is available for us to use. There's food in the kitchen, so we're hardly likely to starve."

"That's not the point…"

"It's entirely the point. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you'll come with me…"

*~*~*~

Sarah looked around the cramped study bedroom and rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell, do they furnish these places from Ikea now? Wasn't like this in my day!"

Lorraine pulled back the duvet on the bed and frowned. "I suspect students' domesticity hasn't improved since your day."

Sarah looked at the sheets and wrinkled her nose. "They should be charging those rent. And it's going to be a bit cozy."

"Good job I know all your deepest secrets and worst habits, then…" Lorraine opened cupboards and drawers and triumphantly flourished clean sheets and an immaculately-pressed duvet cover. "And I'm sure a fond mother will be very upset to discover that her beloved offspring has kept the same sheets on the bed since September. Come on, stop looking like someone's just swiped your last chocolate and help me change them."

They stood back to admire their handiwork. "Hospital corners," said Lorraine, clearly impressed.

"I have a scary housemistress from school to blame – or to thank – for those. She used to inspect all the beds in the dorm every morning. If she wasn't satisfied, you had to re-make the bed until she was. My form's obligatory space cadet once had 15 goes at it before Miss Curbishley was satisfied."

“I hate communal living.” Lorraine unearthed a coffee jar containing some rather dry-looking dregs and set a posh kettle – presumably also provided by the fond mother – to boil

“Well, I liked boarding school. Except for the snoring. You can’t get away from the snoring, and in a dormitory of six girls, there’s always one with a snore like a demented chainsaw.”

"Lucky for you then that you don't snore." Lorraine passed over a mug of coffee.

Sarah took a sip, pronounced it hot and wet and then speculated as to whether they could contribute to penicillin research, given the state of the mugs. 

There was a knock on the door. Ryan stood there, his face as expressionless as usual. "Miss Page, Dr Wickes… We thought we'd eat together tonight."

"That's a nice idea, Mr Ryan," said Lorraine.

"Call me Tom."

"In that case, I'm Lorraine and this is Sarah."

He inclined his head slightly and ushered them through into the flat's communal kitchen and living room.

An intriguing selection of food was piled on the kitchen worktop. Sarah observed that it looked like someone had been on one of those trolley dashes around Tesco, a comment greeted with a trademark Lester sneer. His suggestion that the ladies might like to come up with a dish for the evening was greeted in return by Sarah with the observation that she could burn water and that Lorraine would never deign to cook without her collection of Sabatier knives by her side.

"Stephen and I can cook pasta," said Cutter, glancing over at his research assistant, who nodded and immediately started sorting through the provisions.

It turned in the end into an entertaining interlude, as the two scientists produced a surprisingly edible dish. Stephen appeared to do most of the work, whilst Cutter generally got in the way and offered up a choice selection of Scottish curses when he cut his finger on a knife. Ryan, meanwhile, chopped up a motley pile of fruit and Lester concocted some very bloody Marys from half a bottle of vodka found in an otherwise empty fridge and the juice of a dozen tins of tomatoes scavenged from the refectory kitchens. Sarah and Lorraine laid the table with a mismatched selection of cutlery and crockery.

Afterwards, they adjourned to the living room and drank coffee which had been enlivened by Cutter's discovery of a bottle of Scotch in his briefcase. The vintage of some of the other items he'd pulled out had stopped Sarah from enquiring how long it had been in there.

"So what are your plans for the festive season, ladies?" Lester sipped his coffee delicately, looking for all the world like he was at a smart dinner party.

Sarah was sorely tempted to say sleeping, eating and shagging, but instead said that she and Lorraine were looking forward to spending their first Christmas together in their new flat.

"Splendid," said Lester briskly, going a touch pink around the gills. Cutter and Stephen were grinning broadly. Ryan offered what presumably passed for a smile from him.

"First Christmas at home for Stephen and I in five years," said Cutter, who then proceeded to regale them with lurid tales from expeditions and digs – the sort where you clearly had to have been there to appreciate the anecdotes.

"What about you, Tom?" asked Lorraine, passing around a plate of slightly stale bourbon biscuits. The students in this flat seemed to have a laissez faire attitude to 'best before' dates.

He shrugged. "Nothing special. I used to go skiing, but…" His voice trailed off. Lorraine smiled encouragingly at him and he said quickly: "Not so much fun after I split up with my partner last year."

There were sympathetic murmurings, but no one quite knew what to say. Sarah said quickly: "You're ex-army, aren’t you, Tom?"

He nodded.

"What about your partner, was she?"

"He. No." Ryan's blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Sarah, so it was obvious he'd missed the flare of interest in Lester's eyes. As Sarah said to Lorraine later, her gaydar might have let her down on Ryan, but she'd have staked a month's wages on where Lester's preferences lay.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed…"

"No problem. A lot of people do."

"Were you out when you were in the army?"

He shook his head. "No. They didn't change the rules until after I'd left."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes."

And even Sarah knew that was time to change the subject.

*~*~*~

Lester gazed unenthusiastically at the single bed. The SpongeBob SquarePants duvet cover made him think of his youngest son. He sighed and stared at his mobile phone. He really should phone his ex-wife to tell her he wouldn't be arriving tomorrow. She would take it as a personal slight, as if he'd ordered the snow especially. He wouldn't miss her Christmas dinner, which involved both heartburn and heartache. He would, however, miss the kids. 

He unlaced his shoes and placed them at the bottom of the bed, folded his trousers over the back of the chair and draped his jacket over them. He thought for a moment, then removed his shirt. It would no doubt be chilly without it, but he really disliked the thought of sleeping in one of his best Savile Row shirts. If the snow continued overnight there'd be no guarantee he could even make it across the campus to his office and his spare supply of shirts.

Through the paper-thin walls, Lester could hear Ryan moving about. The former soldier's bombshell earlier had unsettled Lester more than he would have expected. He lay back on the narrow bed, hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the evening. The two younger couples had been so relaxed about their domestic set-ups. He envied Sarah and Lorraine their new home and relationship. He'd heard good things about Dr Wickes – maybe he should co-opt her onto some committees which would benefit from a brisk dose of good sense. And he smiled slightly at the thought of Cutter and Stephen Hart – one rumpled, irascible and an expert in his field, the other looking like something off the pages of a glossy men's magazine. But they were clearly besotted with each other. Lester, not in the least a maudlin man, had a brief pang of regret that his marriage had never been in with even a fighting chance of succeeding.

By 2am, it was abundantly clear to Lester that he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. Insomnia was an occasional problem for him and he was now well-versed in dealing with it: get up, make a milky drink and then read for a couple of hours. If he was lucky, he'd drop off about 6am and grab maybe two hours sleep.

Lester crept through to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. They certainly wouldn't run short of milk; the refectory had clearly catered for an invasion or a siege. A rummage around in the cupboards revealed an unopened jar of Horlicks that was only a month past its use-by date. Presumably it had been sent in a parental tuckbox and neglected in favour of the empty wine bottles and beer cans decorating the kitchen worktop.

Lester then settled down in one of the armchairs, hands wrapped around his hot drink, and stared out of the window. It had stopped snowing and he had to admit that even the university's urban brutalist architecture looked picturesque under its white coating. He'd grown rather fond of Central Metropolitan University during his stay here, but he'd be glad to move on. Rumour had it that he was in line for a vice-chancellor post at one of the more august London colleges. From thence, it would be a small step to either Oxford or Cambridge in about five years' time.

A discreet cough made him jump. 

"Ryan…"

"Sir…"

"James is acceptable in the circumstances."

Ryan nodded. "I'm Tom, then."

"There's plenty of milk if you want a hot drink. I couldn't sleep."

Ryan nodded again. "Me neither. The beds are obviously built for anorexic midgets."

Lester surprised both of them by laughing. "I thought you'd have been used to a bit of hardship, what with being an ex-army chap."

Ryan quirked an eyebrow, which counted as demonstrative for him. "True."

He made a drink and handed Lester a refill without being asked. Then he pulled a chair up and they stared out over the eerie whiteness of the campus.

Lester said suddenly: "Tom, I hope Miss Page's nosiness didn't offend you earlier."

"No. I'm just used to keeping my personal and professional lives separate."

"It must have been difficult for you in the army."

Ryan shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't cope with."

"I'm sorry… I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise."

"I know you didn't."

"It's something I advocate myself. I thoroughly disapprove of private life being brought into work." As he said it, he thought how pompous he sounded. Ryan, though, simply nodded.

Lester added: "Mind you, I do have the snow to thank for sparing me a day of torture with my ex-wife. She's convinced I ordered the snow personally just so that I wouldn't have to suffer her Christmas Day guilt trips."

"Do you have children?"

"Two. I shall miss them and they will no doubt miss my presents rather than my presence."

Ryan smiled and set down his mug on the low, scratched table. "You haven't married again?"

"No. I'm not looking for a wom… A relationship."

Their eyes met and Lester cursed himself mentally for the slip. He said: "When did you know you were…?"

"In my teens. I got married when I was 18, as it was the sort of thing young soldiers did. The relationship was a disaster from start to finish."

"I'm sorry… Any children?"

"A daughter. She lives in Australia with her mother."

"Do they know you're…?" Christ, why couldn't he say the word?

"Gay? No. It would make an arctic relationship untenable. I'm allowed to send birthday and Christmas cards and presents to Natalie, and that's it."

"My ex-wife would do the same if she knew," said Lester, scarcely aware of what he was saying.

Ryan didn't react, simply saying: "It's not the end of the world, James. Look at Lorraine and Sarah, and Cutter and Stephen. They're out and happy. Me, all of my friends outside of work know and have no problem with it."

Lester massaged his aching temples. "I know that's all true. But…"

"You move in a different world from the rest of us." It was a statement rather than a question.

Lester shrugged. He supposed that he did. Conferences and meetings with university movers and shakers were traditional gatherings, with respectable-looking wives – and the occasional equally respectable husband – trotted out for the occasion. The law of averages told him that a university vice-chancellor or deputy somewhere must be gay; they just didn't feel confident enough in that stuffy, conservative world to come out.

"When I was in the army, I was focussed totally and completely on my job. I told myself I didn't need the burden of a relationship, especially when I could be sent to any part of the world at short notice, or killed. It was only when I realised one day that if I did die on-duty, no one would care. My parents are dead and I'm an only child. Then my best mate, Jon, told me some home truths. He'd guessed, you see… And he was right, James. So I did a lot of thinking, resigned my commission and decided it was time to start living a bit."

"You don't regret it?"

"No. The break-up with my partner was hard, but we'd had four good years together."

"Is there anyone else?"

"Not at the moment."

"But you'd like there to be?" Lester felt like he could hardly breathe.

"Oh yes. Very much." Ryan's gaze was unwavering.

There was a silence and Lester said inconsequentially: "The weather forecast reckons the snow will start thawing in the morning. So we may yet get home for Christmas."

Ryan nodded.

"Tom… You'd be very welcome to spend Christmas at my flat, if you'd like that…"

Ryan's smile was wide and unexpected. "I'd like that, James. Thank you."

And they sat in companionable silence as a weak winter sun rose over the campus.


End file.
